A matter of reflection
by Mimulus
Summary: A vanishing corpse draws Ida Greene into another adventure with Holmes and Watson... follows the stories 'the case of the academic abduction' and 'unfinished business'...
1. Chapter 1

'And then they cut him up?'

'They dissected the subject, yes…'

'…I wouldn't have thought that was your sort of thing, Clarence…'

'I know… I felt a bit sick at first, but it was strangely fascinating…'

'Who was this poor fellow?'

'I don't know, Ida, look, that's not the point…'

'…not the point?'

'Ida, just _look_…'

Clarence thrust a folded newspaper under her nose. Just below the fold, a quarter page advertisement was clearly visible

"Never before documented in the history of human anatomy," read Ida, "the remarkable…"

'The _picture_, Ida, the picture…'

There was a picture, a rather good woodcut of the face of the unfortunate deceased. The artist – Clarence, no doubt - had managed to portray an expression of serenity that seemed at odds with the fact that the man was the subject of a public dissection. The man could not have been more than 25 years old, and Ida felt a chill as she wondered how he had met his death…

'Well?'

She looked up to see Clarence, fairly bursting with pride.

'Well what?'

'What do you think of the _picture_?'

Ida shrugged

'I wonder why they didn't use one of those new fangled photo - graphs…' she began, but stopped when she saw Clarence's expression , 'I'm joking! I'm joking, it's very good indeed… Which paper is it?'

'Oh… Some scientific journal or other. They probably couldn't afford a photograph.'

'No, Clarence, seriously, it's very good…'

Ida looked down at the advertisement again

"Astoundingly, the normal left/right asymmetry of the arrangement of the internal organs appears to have been reversed…"

'What's this, then?' she asked, reading it aloud

'Oh,' Clarence waved a hand vaguely, 'they got all excited when they started dissecting that fellow, something about where his liver was or something. Whatever it was, they thought it was important enough to place that advertisement, they thought it would draw a big crowd. I'm going back, anyway. It's tonight.'

Ida couldn't help but frown slightly, the thought was still faintly distasteful,

'The study of anatomy,' proclaimed Clarence, 'is vital to the artist if he hopes to accurately depict the human form.'

'If you say so. Anyway, you had better get a move on – it says here that it starts at seven. And I suppose you'll want a good view.'

'Gosh, yes,' said Clarence, looking at his watch. 'Ida, I don't suppose you would do me the honour of walking with me as far as Marble Arch? It seems like we haven't spoken in ages, I still haven't heard all about what happened with Lady Crispin-Eastwood…'

Ida grinned, that certainly was a long story

'I'll fetch my hat.'


	2. Chapter 2

'So have you heard from Mr Holmes lately?'

'No. He hasn't needed any undercover maid work recently,' said Ida, drily

'You can do more than that!'

'Well, Clarence, I'm starting to think that maybe I can't…'

'Holmes must think you're good at detective work – if he just wanted someone to pretend to be a maid, he could do that himself…'

Ida burst out laughing,

'He could! He is a master of disguise!'

'Oh please, Clarence, I've seen his 'old woman' disguise, it's rubbish! No actual _female_ would be taken in for a moment. He could convince anyone that he's a coal miner, or a labourer, or the King of Spain for that matter, but his women are like pantomime dames…'

'…I thought he was an old woman,' muttered Clarence,

'and artists are supposed to be observant!'

They had walked far past Marble Arch and were now in a network of side streets between Baker Street and the Edgeware Road. It was a balmy summer evening, but the streets were largely empty, except for one man on the other side of the road…

…Ida suddenly jumped,

'That's Doctor Watson!' she exclaimed

'So it is,' agreed Clarence, 'well, speak of the Devil, eh? Shall we say hello…?'

'He looks as though he's in a hurry…' said Ida, hesitantly, but Clarence was already striding over the road

'Hello there, Doctor! It's me, Clarence!'

Ida hurried over behind him, in time to hear Doctor Watson say

'Yes, good to see you, can't stop, terribly sorry…'

'Surely you could spare five minutes to chat…'

'…_Not now_! Excuse me…'

The doctor brushed past Clarence and continued on his way. Ida noticed a piece of paper fall as he passed, and stooped to retrieve it

'Doctor…' she started to call after him, but the words died on her lips as she saw the paper she now held.

'Clarence!' she exclaimed, waving it at him, 'he must be going to that surgical demonstration,'

Clarence frowned, 'No,' he said, 'he's heading away from St Mary's – back towards Baker Street…'

Ida found a grin spreading involuntarily across her face, and set off walking with renewed vigour.

'Come on then,' she called over her shoulder, 'we'd better hurry…'

'What? You've decided you want to see the dissection after all?'

'I think,' said Ida, 'that there's going to be something even more interesting to inspect…'

There was a large crowd outside the entrance to the medical school building adjoining St Mary's hospital. Ida managed to elbow her way through to reach the door, upon which a hastily scrawled notice had been pinned

'_Demonstration cancelled. Our apologies_.'

The door itself was open, however, and the general melee spilled into the corridor and up the stairs inside.

'Excuse me,' she asked a passing gentleman in a top hat, 'do you know what's happening?'

He peered at her through his monocle

'Why has the demonstration been cancelled?' Ida persisted,

'They're trying to save face,' came a voice from behind her. Ida turned to see another man, this time wearing some sort of academic gown, addressing her,

'There never was any specimen, the whole thing must have been made up. Reversal of the organs indeed… It was probably a student prank which fooled them…'

'Not so!' the top hatted gentlemen spoke at last, 'I saw it!'

'Oh, and you are an expert in the field I'm sure!'

'As it happens, sir, I…'

Ida left them to their bickering and slipped away. She found Clarence standing by an oil painting which hung on the wall of the corridor

'Would you look at that brushwork,' he said, with some disdain, 'a child could do better…'

'_Clarence,_' she hissed sharply, 'I need for you to show me the way to the demonstration room…'

'….but it's been cancelled…'

'…now!'

Upon entering the large, round, dimly lit chamber they found themselves standing at the top of a balcony which hugged the walls. Looking down into the centre of the room Ida saw a group of men in lab coats and medical overalls surrounding a conspicuously empty operating table. A trolley full of shining metal implements stood nearby.

'But I tell you, it was _here_!' she heard someone insisting, and another voice chiming in with

'We ought to search the student's quarters, maybe someone…'

'…in under 3 minutes? Impossible!'

'Well it can't have walked out of here…'

This last statement was made with an emphatic gesture which caught the edge of the instrument trolley and made the various knives and scalpels jangle. Ida clenched her teeth in frustration, and leant over the balcony to get a better look at the scene

'Are you _sure_ we checked everything,' said the trolley basher. He began to get down on his knees, as though to look underneath the table, but he jogged the trolley again with his elbow and almost knocked it over…

…Ida could stand it no longer

'Can everybody _please_ step away from the operating table!' she cried, in her most authoritative tone. 'You sir!' she shouted at one of the surgeons, 'stop poking at those sheets…'

The elderly man froze in astonishment

'…and you!' she addressed one of the medical students who was hovering on the edges of the group, 'go and lock the outside doors for heaven's sake!' The young man gave her a puzzled look, then obeyed.

'Right, gentlemen,' said Ida, 'I must ask you all to sit down, and…'

'…Excuse me,' came a voice from behind her, 'but who the _hell_ are you, young lady?'

The surgeons and medical students milling around in front of her suddenly looked, if that was possible, even more terrified. Ida turned around, very slowly.

Behind her stood a tall, imposing figure, wearing some sort of academic dress covered by a long white coat

'My name,' said Ida, through dry lips, 'is Miss Ida Greene, er, doctor? ..professor?...'

'_Mr_ MacKenzie,' supplied the man, glaring at her from beneath a pair of thick and wiry eyebrows. 'I am the chief surgeon of St Mary's Hospital, and I have to ask you what you think you are doing here…'

'Well sir,' said Ida, swallowing hard, 'a crime seems to have been committed, and I was doing my utmost to prevent the destruction of what little evidence there may be by your staff…'

'..indeed. Are you with the police, Miss Greene?'

Ida hesitated, then shook her head, racking her brains for what to say next as the surgeon walked even closer. Then,

'No.' answered a familiar voice. Ida turned to see a man standing in the doorway where she and Clarence had entered, a dark silhouette against the yellow gas light from the corridor.

'She's with me,' said Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys, I'm glad that you're not bored of Ida yet... Here's another chapter, but I probably won't update again until next weekend.

* * *

'No one asked you to come, Mr Holmes', said MacKenzie, in a somewhat brittle voice.

Holmes entered the room, his face impassive

'Would you like me to leave?' he asked

'I didn't say that…'

'My good friend Doctor Watson informed me that something…intriguing…had occurred, and…'

'…and you sent this girl to shout at us?'

Ida bit her lip nervously and tried to catch Holmes' eye, but he merely ignored the question and continued smoothly

'You had better tell me the facts of the case, Mr MacKenzie. But first, would these gentlemen do as Miss Greene suggested and kindly leave the vicinity of the operating table?'

MacKenzie made a sort of exasperated gesture, and the medical students and surgeons backed away

'Thank you.'

Mr MacKenzie led Holmes to one of the benches where members of the audience usually sat, and began speaking in a hushed yet urgent voice. Ida realised she wasn't going to be able to eavesdrop. She descended the stairs from the balcony to the lower level, where the gang of students and surgeons looked at her with some consternation. Scanning the group, she found her eyes met by a young man – one of the students probably – who was standing to one side, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.

'Excuse me,' he asked, 'are we allowed to leave now?'

Slightly taken aback to be asked such a thing, and not a little self satisfied, Ida endeavoured to look authoritative

'Soon,' she replied, 'but if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions…'

Scowling ever so slightly, the young man nodded his assent. She drew him away from the others so that they could talk in private.

'The body, that was to be the subject of tonight's dissection has gone missing,' Ida stated, with a quick glance at his reaction just in case she had got completely the wrong end of the stick, but he gave a brief nod of agreement.

'The body was placed in this room, in preparation for tonight's display?'

Another brief nod.

'Who carried out this task?'

The man sniffed, before replying in what seemed a rather constricted voice,

'I did.'

'Really?' Ida smiled slowly. 'So were you the last person to see the body in here?'

'I suppose I must have been. I wheeled in the body at 6 o clock this evening, and arranged everything for the dissection. That took me until about half past…'

'…alone?' Ida interrupted, 'you prepared everything alone?'

'Yes.' The man stared boldly at her, 'that's not unusual.'

'If you say so,'

The man sniffed again.

'At half past six I left the room, with the trolley that I had used to transport the body. At least half a dozen people must have seen me leave. And noted the _emptiness_ of the trolley…'

'Quite so…'

'And if you care to speak to Mr MacKenzie, I met him in the corridor as I left, and he may well have noted that there _was_ a body on the table in here…'

'…I don't doubt you, Mr…?'

'Hobbs.'

'Please continue, Mr Hobbs…'

'Just before twenty five to seven, one of the surgeons came to check my preparations and found the body gone. That's all I know.'

'So…under five minutes to remove the body… Was anyone guarding the corridor?'

'All the exits were under surveillance, in preparation for tonight's public meeting…'

Thinking back to the crowd up front, and the ease with which she and Clarence had slipped in here, Ida had her doubts about the efficacy of the establishment's security, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

'Thankyou Mr Hobbs,' she said, 'You are a student here I take it?'

'Ye..Yes...' he stuttered. There really was something odd about this young man's voice.

'And we could reach you here, should anything else come up?'

'Certainly.'

'Well then, Mr Hobbs…' Ida extended her hand, 'I think that's about it.'

The hand which shook hers was small and pale.

'I can go now?'

'I think so.'

'Thankyou.'

As Mr Hobbs turned away, Ida became even more convinced that something was amiss, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what. Her eyes followed the young man's progress across the room, his walking strangely stiff, until he left by a small side door…

Shaking herself, Ida turned to the rest of the room, where a group of intimidated looking surgeons and students were still hovering. She should probably see what information could be gleaned from them…but…

'Ida?' she heard Clarence call, questioningly, as she hurried after Mr Hobbs

'I'll just be a minute…' she threw back, over her shoulder, 'Make a sketch of the room or something…'

…………

The corridor she found herself in was narrow and panelled in dark wood. A single wall mounted lamp did not provide much in the way of illumination, and there was no sign of the medical student. Ida paused momentarily, then turned left. The odds were 50:50 after all…

………….

'Damn…' swore Ida softly. The corridor ended at a single door which led to an outside alleyway. Even if this had been Mr Hobbs' destination, she was hardly likely to find him in the city… Sighing, she pushed open the door anyway, to feel the fresh air against her face.

A figure darted out of the shadows towards her. But he sprang away just as quickly and ran off into the night. Her heart pounding, Ida put out a hand to steady herself against the doorframe.

'It can't be…' she whispered aloud

In the meagre light cast by the doorway behind her, she had seen the face of a ghost.


	4. Chapter 4

'I'm telling you, Clarence, it was the _same man_…'

'Ida, you had the tiniest glimpse of him! _And_ it was dark…'

'I would know that face anywhere, Clarence, your picture was that good…'

'…well, thank you, but my picture was of a _dead_ man… Did you happen to notice whether this fellow's liver was intact?'

'I'll do the sarcasm, Clarence…'

'…sorry…'

Ida pressed a hand against her forehead. Could she have been mistaken? It had been a shock, the way he lunged out of the darkness, and – obviously – the disappearing corpse had been at the forefront of her mind…but…

'Dead men don't jump out at people…' she said, slowly.

'_Now_ we're getting somewhere,' said Clarence.

'When you have eliminated the impossible…' Ida murmured to herself.

'What's that?'

'Just something Mr Holmes says… When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be the truth.'

Clarence's eyes narrowed for a moment as he worked this one out.

'Fair enough,' he agreed, 'but if you ask me, you mistaking this man's face in the dark isn't exactly _improbable_…'

'…Twins, Clarence,' said Ida, matter-of –factly. 'The dead man has an identical twin.'

'Riiiiight…'

'I'm serious.'

They locked eyes, briefly. Then,

'Fine!' said Clarence, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat, 'the body has a twin. A living, breathing, walking about and jumping out of shadows twin.'

'A living, breathing, hanging around the building where the body of his brother has just vanished twin,' added Ida. 'Where's Mr Holmes?'

……………..

Having finished his interview with MacKenzie, Holmes was now examining the operating table and surrounding area with intense scrutiny. Ida hovered uncertainly several yards away, not sure whether she ought to disturb him. Just then she felt a light tap on her arm. Turning, she saw Doctor Watson standing beside her.

'Please accept my apologies, Miss Greene, for hurrying past you in the street earlier,' he said, 'as I'm sure you have realised I was on my way to fetch Holmes.'

'Yes,' said Ida, 'that's quite alright…'

'…not a terribly important case, I imagine, probably some sort of joke, but frankly _any_ kind of mystery is a bonus at present…'

'…Mr Holmes hasn't had many cases recently, then?'

'…hardly any.' The doctor's face was grave for a moment, then

'Perhaps you've been getting all the customers, Miss Greene,' he grinned

Ida did not deign to respond to this.

Holmes suddenly straightened, having been bent double to closely inspect the sheet with his magnifying glass, and turned to face them

'I think that's all,' he said.

'Did you find anything of interest?' asked Watson.

Holmes gestured towards the stairs which led back up to the balcony.

'Shall we?'

'Did you find anything?' came an irritated voice – Ida realised MacKenzie was still present.

'When I find your missing specimen, Mr MacKenzie, I'll let you know.'

'So you _will_ find it then…'

There was an edge to MacKenzie's voice which belied significant anxiety. Just how important _was_ this whole reversed-internal-organs thing?

'I have every confidence, Mr MacKenzie.'

MacKenzie snorted, then stalked out via the side door on the lower level, leaving Holmes, Watson, Clarence and Ida alone. Apparently the other surgeons and students had made their escape.

'Back to Baker Street, Watson' said Holmes,

'Mr Holmes…' Ida began,

'…you too, Miss Greene.'

* * *

A/N: Once again, thanks for the reviews! I've tried to be more alert to the punctuation, and yes - Holmes will be getting more lines soon... Stay tuned for more tomorrow!  



	5. Chapter 5

'More tea, Miss Greene?'

'Thank you'

Ida held out the bone china cup for Doctor Watson to pour.

'It's very nice of you to entertain us,' she said, 'but I really do think that there is something I must…'

'…got it!' came an exclamation from behind them

Ida turned, to see Holmes emerge – at last – from behind a stack of paper folders.

'I knew I'd seen it somewhere before… Watson, one of these days I must cross reference these notes again…'

He exhaled with an air of deep satisfaction, then made for the tea table.

'No scones?'

Clarence looked shifty.

'No matter.' He threw himself into a vacant armchair and stretched his legs out before him.

Ida and Doctor Watson shared a glance, then

'Well?' asked Watson.

'Mmm?'

'What have you found out? Damn it, Holmes, you were poking about in those papers for an hour and a half!'

'I was looking for a reference…'

'…well, we gathered that…'

'Mr Holmes,' interrupted Ida at last, 'I feel that there is something I _have_ to tell you…'

'Then pray tell me,'

Exasperated, Ida swallowed, then said – as calmly as she could

'I have reason to believe that the missing dead body had a twin. A twin who is still very much alive.'

Holmes sat bolt upright in his chair and inhaled deeply through his nose

'That,' he said slowly, 'is _most_ suggestive…What evidence do you have?'

Ida explained about her conversation with Hobbs and subsequent encounter at the doorway.

'Wait,' Holmes held up a hand, 'you recognised this man from a picture, you say?'

'Yes,' said Ida, 'Clarence, do you have that paper?'

Clarence produced it from a pocket and handed it over. Holmes inspected it with a frown,

'It is only a woodcut…' he said

'Do you want to see my initial sketches?' asked Clarence, hopefully, 'I really think I did some nice work with the light and…'

'As I'm sure the good doctor will confirm, I have no appreciation of fine art. This interests me as likeness, Mr Fortescue, nothing more…'

'It was him, Mr Holmes,' said Ida, 'I know it was...'

'…and it's a bloody good likeness…' muttered Clarence.

'Well.' Holmes held the paper out to Clarence again, 'it's certainly not _impossible_ that this man had a twin…'

'And therefore we cannot _eliminate_ that particular hypothesis…'said Ida, with a smile.

'Quite so.'

'Whilst we are on the subject of hypotheses,' broke in Dr Watson, 'perhaps you could explain why we've been sat here waiting for you to finish ferreting about in those old newspaper cuttings…?'

'Ferreting about!' said Holmes, with mock irritation, 'Doctor, I'll have you know that my search method was logic itself…'

'…and!'

'…patience, Doctor…I fancy that Miss Greene might first like to see what I found on the operating table…'

'Hmph…'

Holmes grinned, and leaned forward in the armchair, reaching into his breast pocket

'What,' he said, holding out a metallic object towards Ida, 'do you make…' she took the item, which turned out to be some sort of chain, '…of that?'

He sat back in the chair, and looked at her over steepled fingers.

Ida held the chain up to the light

'It appears….to be some sort of medallion...'

She moved her hand slightly, and the small disc suspended on the chain swung back and forth.

'You found this on the operating table?'

'Yes. Right under the sheet.'

'Well, that's strange, isn't it? The corpse shouldn't have been wearing any sort of jewellery, not if they were about to do a dissection…'

'My thoughts exactly…'

'So….either this belongs to our Mr Hobbs…or…'

'…or…?'

'Or this belongs to the thief?'

'Possibly…'

Holmes seemed to expect something else from her.

'Or…this does belong to the corpse, but no one noticed it…'

She was losing his attention now, there had to be something else…

'…or there was another body!'

Now Holmes smiled,

'Someone else was on that trolley…a decoy, not the real corpse at all!'

'Possibly.'

'Either way, it looks bad for Hobbs, doesn't it?'

'Patience, Miss Greene, let us not get ahead of ourselves…'

Ida fingered the medallion

'Feels like real gold,' she said, with some surprise, 'but the chain is cheap…It broke, obviously…you can see the ends here…'

She held the medallion up close to her eyes, and squinted to try and make out what it symbolised,

'It's some sort of saint medal!' she exclaimed.

'Is it?'

Frustrated, Ida squinted harder, then,

'…well, it certainly appears to have St Elmo…'

'….St Erasmus. Patron saint of sailors…'

'And of women in labour.'

'Really?…Irrelevant in this case, I think…'

Ida turned the medallion over. On its reverse was a letter A, entwined through with an S.

'Some sort of monogram?'

Holmes said nothing.

'Not really what you'd expect to find on a saint medal…'

Ida turned the medallion over once more.

'The monogram was stamped onto the back of the medal after this side was engraved… And none too carefully, it warped the picture on this side slightly…'

'…and what does that suggest to you?'

'That St Elmo is not as important to the owner of this medal as the wearing of it might imply…'

'…so?'

'So if it's not worn as a sign of devotion, it must be worn for some other reason…'

'…such as?'

'…such as whatever this A and this S signfies…'

Holmes nodded, but Ida was getting frustrated.

'Mr Holmes, I don't think this is entirely fair. You have had the advantage of your catalogue of newspaper clippings and…'

'Miss Greene, I didn't expect you to conjure the entire case from the medallion alone…'

'…oh really?'

'…in fact you have gleaned practically all the useful information that it can provide…may I?'

He reached out a hand and took the medallion back.

'As you correctly recognised, this is – on first impression – a St Erasmus medal. However, the lettering embossed on the reverse – and the manner in which it was done – suggests its religious significance may be a decoy. Now. Behind St Erasmus, did you notice another object represented?'

'A ship.'

'Is it?'

Ida took the medallion back, but – squint though she might – she saw nothing but a small sailing ship.

'Try rotating it through ninety degrees…'

Ida turned the medal slowly. Now that the boat lay on its side, there was something odd about the mast. In fact, if you looked at it from a certain angle, the mast and part of the body of the ship could almost form a strangely elongated…

'gun?' asked Ida, incredulously

'A gun,' agreed Holmes. A brief smile flashed across his face.

'Not bad, Miss Greene.'


	6. Chapter 6

Authors note :

I apologise for the inordinately long time since I last updated this story. I really, really do intend to finish it, so please bear with me! (and I promise that I do know how it's going to end, even if the plot seems ludicrously convoluted)

* * *

It was raining like it really meant it. Great lumps of water hammered down onto the brim of Ida's hat, which drooped sorrowfully, letting secondary drips patter down onto the shoulders of her coat. She pulled it more tightly around herself. 

The wooden door to the dilapidated building on the other side of the road - the object of her regular sideways glances - remained stubbornly closed. In an effort to stay motivated, Ida ran through once more in her mind the conversation of last night.

'_The Annie Sue gang'_

'_Annie Sue? Explains the initials A S I suppose, but…'_

'_It was a ship. The Annie Susan.'_

Holmes had gone on to explain that this particular ship had been instrumental in a sophisticated smuggling operation that Scotland Yard had uncovered two years previously. The AS monogram had been part of a tattoo shared by several of the ringleaders. A picture of this tattoo had been reproduced in the papers - and Holmes had kept a cutting of the story.

'_So they're active again? I still don't see a connection between smuggling…'_

'…_or gun running…' _Clarence had interjected, trying to be helpful

'…_right…yes, I don't see any connection with this disappearing body…'_

'_And I have none to offer you, Miss Greene. For now.'_

A wagon laden with sacks of potatoes splashed through the gutter, sending up a sheet of muddy water that soaked the hem of her skirt. Swearing softly, she bent to inspect the extent of the damage…and heard a door bang loudly. Looking up sharply, she saw a man walking away from the door on the other side of the street, his coat collar turned up around his ears and a cloth cap pulled well down on his head. Ida took a deep breath, then set off after him as nonchalantly as she could.

'_I know of two former members of the Annie Sue gang currently living in London,' Holmes had said, standing with his back to the room, looking thoughtfully out of the window. 'Until further evidence is forthcoming, perhaps…Miss Greene...a little surveillance might be in order…'_

Despite the fact that she was almost certain Holmes had set her this task to keep her out of the way, now that the object of her attention was actually on the move, Ida could not help but feel a thrill of excitement. The man – one Joe Treese, according to Holmes – so far seemed unaware that he was being followed. He reached the end of the street, which had a junction with a much busier thoroughfare, looked from side to side, then set off purposefully towards… a waiting omnibus.

'Damn!'

A split second of indecision, then curiosity trumped caution, and she sprinted through the rain, grabbing the rail of the bus just after Mr Treese had boarded

'Kensal Green Cemetery,' she heard him say to the conductor, handing over some change

'Right you are, sir…And you? Miss?'

Still panting from her exertion, Ida was momentarily thrown

'Er…'

Mr Treese turned round and his eyes bored into her…Suddenly repeating the destination of Kensal Green seemed like less of a good idea.

'Er…'

Despite her panic, she couldn't help but notice that under his worn coat, Treese was wearing what appeared to be a fairly decent, if old fashioned, suit in funereal black. But from where the coat fell open at the neck, there didn't appear to be a tie, and behind the poorly starched collar, was she imagining it or did she catch a glimpse of a gold chain…?

'We haven't got all day, miss, where to?'

Out of the corner of her eye, Ida spotted a Hanson cab pull up behind the bus. It appeared to be unoccupied…

'Do you go to Brixton?'

'Sorry, Miss, nowhere near…Try reading the front of the bus, eh?'

The cab driver was looking less and less happy

'Look,' said Ida, as they climbed the steps to the front door of 221b Baker Street, 'trust me, my friend will pay you…'

'No offence, miss, but you don't look the sort to have friends in a house like this…'

'Just give me one minute, honestly, you'll see…'

'I thought twice about picking you up in the first place, you know… Look here, just cos you're a woman doesn't mean I won't call the police…'

'I'm sure that won't be necessary.'

Ida tugged on the bell, willing Holmes to be in

'I can't leave my cab like this neither, miss, so…'

From above came the sound of a sash window being drawn up

'Miss Greene?'

Ida craned her neck

'Mr Holmes?'

'Mrs Hudson is out, Miss Greene. And why have you brought me a cab driver?'

If it was possible, the cab driver looked even more uncomfortable

'Mr Holmes, there isn't time…just come down, please…'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

'Take a left at the end of this street, then follow the next one for about a hundred yards and take the turning to the right…'

'If you say so, sir, but…'

'…I do say so.'

Holmes leant back in the seat once more.

'Don't you think the cabbie knows the way to Kensal Green?' asked Dr Watson,

'The most direct route, Watson, may not be the quickest, depending on the traffic at various times of day. With any luck, this way we shall arrive almost as soon as that omnibus…'

'Kensal Green Cemetery is enormous, though,' said Watson, 'how in the world will we find him?'

'If Miss Greene's analysis of the situation is correct, then Mr Treese is attending a funeral. There are therefore only say…three or four areas of the cemetery in which he is likely to be…'

'Let us hope the service is a long one…'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

'Look, Holmes!' called Dr Watson, raising his voice above the rain, 'another funeral party!'

'Indeed, doctor. Third time lucky, perhaps…'

There was more than an edge of irritation in Holmes' voice, but Ida was too wet and cold to waste energy worrying that she might have brought them on a fools' errand.

As they tramped across the wet grass, Ida scanned the small group of people standing by the graveside up ahead. The mourners consisted of six averagely sized men, any of whom might or might not have been Treese, one enormously overweight fellow who, she could just about make out through the pouring rain, sported a bowler hat, and one woman, clad from head to toe in black, complete with a veil. Drawing nearer, Ida saw the woman cast a handful of earth into the grave, then walk swiftly away, leaving the men behind.

There was something about the woman that seemed strangely familiar. Ida altered her direction so as to get a closer look. Yes. The nearer she came, the stronger the sense that she knew her from somewhere…

'Excuse me, ma'am,' Ida stepped into her path, 'I'm truly sorry to bother you at a time like this, but…'

The eyes behind the veil widened in shocked recognition, but try as she might, Ida still could not place her…

Something she had overheard Holmes say once, rang again in her ears

'_Always look at the hands first, Watson, then cuffs, trouser knees and boots…_'

Perhaps the latter half was less relevant in the identification of a woman's employment, but…

…she glanced down at the woman's hands. Small, pale, hands which she _had_ seen before… And about ten separate nagging doubts which had been at the back of her mind for days slotted into place.

… 'if you don't mind, I have a couple more questions for you, "Mr" Hobbs.'


	7. Chapter 7

The young woman made as if to walk away, but Ida placed a restraining hand firmly on her arm.

'I…'

'It's no good, Miss Hobbs, if that's even your name at all…'

'_Mrs_ …'

'Well, Mrs Hobbs then, I…'

From somewhere among the headstones came the sound of a man crying out in pain – which was stifled as suddenly as it had emerged. Ida felt the young woman's muscles tighten, and saw through the veil that her face was filled with dread.

'Who's that?' Ida asked,

'Ernest,' whispered the woman, tugging herself away and running towards the sound.

……………………

How the hell, wondered Ida, had she managed to lose sight of Mrs Hobbs in under ten seconds? True, in this part of the cemetery the headstones were packed very closely together and included many tall, gothic monuments; the rain made it difficult to see anything, and the meagre light that had illuminated most of the day was fast fading into dusk, but even so…

'Mrs Hobbs!' she yelled, for want of any other tactic.

Listening hard through the rain she thought she might have heard something…

'Is anyone there?' she shouted again.

A shadowy figure darted away in front of her. She saw the swish of some sort of long black cloak between two marble obelisks, then nothing but the rain. Ida tramped in that direction in any case…

…A young man was lying in the grass behind an impressively ornate mini mausoleum – the man with the face that she had seen in the alleyway outside the hospital, and whose likeness Clarence had painstakingly sketched from a corpse. He was still alive, but the blood seeping through his shirt implied that this might not remain the case for much longer.

She dropped to her knees beside him, and attempted to gingerly tug the fabric away from the wound. A cry of agony was unforthcoming, and she realised he had already fainted. As she desperately sought a way to staunch the bleeding…

'Miss Greene?' came a familiar voice 'Where are you?'

'Dr Watson!' she cried, 'thank heavens! Come quickly!'

……………………………………….

'Holmes, we need to get him to a hospital!'

'No,' snapped Holmes and Mrs Hobbs in unison. Holmes looked at the young woman in faint surprise, before continuing, 'no hospitals. Not until we are entirely sure as to the involvement, or otherwise, of certain surgeons in this case. You can treat him, can you not?'

'Well…'

'And the good reverend here…'

…all eyes turned to the vicar upon whose doorstep the four of them had appeared but five minutes previously, bearing the unconscious stab victim…

'…has extended his hospitality to allow this young man a place on his couch for the night. Haven't you?'

'I … well….'

'A true man of God – selfless, charitable… I take my hat off to you, sir… And I'm sure that a donation to the upkeep of your church might …'

'…of course, of course, I am most delighted to be of any assistance that I can. But …hadn't we better …. The police?'

'Yes, yes,' said Holmes, distractedly, 'inform the police by all means.'

'And I shall need boiling water,' ordered Watson, 'and any bandages…or even old sheets or towels you might have… Someone should really go back to Baker Street and get my bag…'

'I have some…small…things which might be helpful…' said Mrs Hobbs, in a slightly choked voice,

'Thankyou, ma'am, but I'm not altogether sure that…'

Wordlessly, she drew a small leather case from the pocket of her dress and handed it over. Dr Watson unrolled it to reveal a glint of steel,

'Well…this is helpful…'

'And while the doctor has this situation under control,' said Holmes smoothly, 'I think that perhaps it is time for you to talk.'

…………………………………………………..

It had been clear, of course, from the moment back in the cemetery when Mrs Hobbs had found Ida and Dr Watson bending over the young man, that she loved him. In fact, as she confided to them now in the parlour of the vicarage, he was her husband - Ernest Hobbs.

'Then, why, pray,' asked Holmes, 'do you wear your ring on your right hand, as though you were a widow?'

Ida glanced down quickly. Naturally Holmes was right. She should have noticed that herself…

Mrs Hobbs sniffed, and fiddled with her handkerchief, apparently unable to think of a response. Holmes stood up, impatiently, and strode to the fireplace. After staring into the flames for 10 seconds or so, he spun around

'I put it to you, Mrs Hobbs, that the man whose burial you just attended was your husband's twin. For reasons I have yet to establish you sought to pass him off as your husband. As a rule I avoid speculation, but possibly you thought that faking your husband's death would protect him from some sort of harm – perhaps the harm which now seems to have befallen him despite your efforts…'

Mrs Hobbs said nothing, but her eyes betrayed a sort of horrified surprise.

'Of course, your husband must have been part of the plan, for I'm certain he was involved in the theft of his brother's body from St Mary's hospital…'

'...And _she_…' Ida tried to interrupt, pointing at Mrs Hobbs

'Not now, Miss Greene.' Holmes holding up a hand to silence her. 'Finally, I know that the Annie Sue gang – once smugglers, now by all accounts gun runners - must have had some dealings with your husband. Several key members seemed to be in attendance at his –supposed- funeral.' Holmes paused, and crossed the room once more, to stand at Mrs Hobbs' elbow. She turned her head to meet his gaze. Ida had to admire her nerve.

'I have all these pieces of the puzzle, Mrs Hobbs. And believe me, the solution is within my reach, with or without your help. But I would suggest, if you really do want to save your husband from whatever danger he's in…' he bent in closer, 'that you tell me the truth.'

'Very well,' said Mrs Hobbs tightly, 'but I…' her voice cracked, 'I don't know who could have done this to him…'

She balled her handkerchief in one hand, then continued

'You're right, of course, it was a sham funeral, and…and Ernest wasn't even supposed to _be_ there, and…'

'…Mrs Hobbs,' interjected Holmes, 'pray begin at the beginning…'


	8. Chapter 8

The story Mrs Hobbs outlined began when she and her husband had arrived in London…

'…so that my husband could look for work. And also to be nearer to his twin brother, who had fallen upon hard times, and…' she paused, awkwardly,

'…and?' prompted Holmes,

'and who, I'm sorry to say, had taken to drinking rather heavily.'

'I see.'

Mrs Hobbs swallowed, then continued

'For the first few months we lived happily enough, and my husband found work as a clerk in a shipping office.'

Ida nearly interrupted to ask what she herself had been doing during that time, but bit her tongue – wondering if Holmes actually _knew_ about the Mrs Hobbs' double life as a medical student …

'But after 3 months, I began to notice my husband acting a little strangely. It took a while, but I eventually got him to admit that he was being blackmailed…'

'Blackmailed?' cut in Ida, 'over what?'

'I never found out.'

Ida didn't believe that for a second, but Holmes was looking at her in some irritation, so she held her tongue once more.

'…he was being blackmailed by those men you saw at the funeral. Members of some sort of…gang…'

'…the Annie Sue gang.'

'…Whoever they are, they wanted my husband to use his position at the shipping firm to help them in their…activities. When sailors came in to claim their wages, he was to pass along messages to those of them who were in the gang. Messages about where to drop off goods, or where to pick them up.'

'And did your husband comply?' asked Holmes

'He did.'

'This blackmail, this hold they had over him, must have been very strong, don't you think?'

'Very strong indeed, sir.'

Ida willed Holmes to press this point further, but he seemed disinclined to do so,

'Carry on, Mrs Hobbs.'

'The tasks that my husband were set grew more dangerous, and we both wanted, more than anything, to find a way out. And then…'

'…yes?'

'…Then my husband's brother died.'

'And his body ended up as the subject of a surgical demonstration,' finished Holmes, breaking the silence,

'He died on the streets, sir. He was an anonymous body until…'

Mrs Hobbs' voice died away and she turned to look at the doorway,

'Until?' pressed Ida, 'until what?'…

'… Holmes?' came Doctor Watson's voice from the doorway, tinged with a low urgency, 'I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but I must speak with you,'

'What is it, Watson?'

'Ernest…?' asked Mrs Hobbs, desperately

'His condition is stable, for now. But I feel I have to tell you…'

'Yes?'

'The cleanliness and precision of his wound… Holmes, a surgeon has done this…'

Mrs Hobbs gasped, audibly. Holmes' eyes narrowed for a second, then he said, briskly

'Indeed. Watson, if you would be so good as to show me…'

'Holmes, I've just dressed the wound…'

Holmes sighed, then

'Very well, doctor, if you would describe it to me in _absolute_ detail…'

'Someone ought to stay with Ernest,' said Mrs Hobbs, standing, 'I'll go to him…'

Holmes gave Ida a meaningful look,

'I'll come with you,' she announced, standing also.

………………………

They had lain Ernest Hobbs on a couch in the vicar's back room. Mrs Hobbs paused with her hand on the doorknob.

'I don't suppose…' she turned to Ida, 'that Ernest and I could have a moment alone?'

Ida could see genuine tears in the corners of the woman's eyes, and she felt a surge of sympathy. As far as Ida knew, her biggest crime so far had been to impersonate a man in order to study medicine. Was that even a crime? The more Ida thought about it, it sounded brave, exciting, almost glamorous… And this woman and her husband had conspired to steal a body…well, what of it? They were the next of kin, so was it even 'stealing' at all? And now her husband was gravely ill, and she wanted a moment alone with him…well…

'Of course you may,' Ida replied, 'I'll just be out here.'

Mrs Hobbs smiled wanly, then slipped into the room. Thirty seconds passed in which Ida examined first the wood grain of the door (close set); her own fingernails (too long) and finally the large muddy stain which had adorned her skirt since her stint spying on Treese earlier that day (probably permanent). Then, at last, she put her hand to the doorknob and called,

'Mrs Hobbs? I'm coming in now…'

There was no response. With a sudden, cold rush of anxiety, Ida threw open the door.

The room was small and furnished with dark wooden furniture that conveyed, if not elegance, at least a firm adherence to geometric principles. The effect was somewhat marred by the white sheet that had been hurriedly thrown over the couch on which Ernest still lay. He made a faint groaning noise as the door slammed shut behind Ida. But where…? Her eyes scanned the room desperately, until at last they lighted upon the window. The open window.

'Damn, damn, _damn_!'

For a moment she stood stock still in dismay, then…

'Mr Holmes!' yelled Ida, dashing to the window herself. It was a large, sash window and there was easily enough space to clamber out, as long as one was careful not to…

'_Blast_!'

…catch ones skirt on the windowsill. Outside the window was a flowerbed, the soil saturated with rain. From the light from the window, Ida could just about make out that a quantity of it had been kicked onto the lawn, in the direction of the road.

Sprinting that way herself, Ida saw, in the distance another running figure

'Now I've got you,' she panted under her breath.

'Miss Greene!' came another shout from behind her, accompanied by further running footsteps 'come back!'

_Come back_?! thought Ida to herself indignantly, _come back_? What good was that, apart from to give Holmes another opportunity to berate her stupidity? And that was something she was particularly loath to do, since leaving Mrs Hobbs alone with a route of escape had been … foolish, to say the least.

Ida had reached the road now, and looked up and down for her quarry. No longer was there any running figure, but in the shadow cast by the wall of the cemetery, was there a slightly darker patch?

Something else impinged on her concentration – the sound of horse's hooves and rattling wheels. Some sort of carriage was approaching.

The shadow ahead darted up and away, but this time Ida was quicker off the mark. A breathless sprint and she had caught up with Mrs Hobbs and seized her arm…

'Let go of me!' struggled the young woman, but Ida clung on for dear life,

'You don't understand!' she hissed, 'they're coming!'

'Who's coming?' asked Ida.

The horses' hooves were much louder now, as though the carriage were drawing right alongside.

'Idiot!' moaned Mrs Hobbs, 'idiot, idiot, idiot…'

'Look,' said Ida, 'Mr Holmes will be here in a minute, you're not going to…'

But Ida never got to finish her sentence. There was a sharp squeal as the carriage's wheels came to an abrupt halt, then a sickening pain danced across her skull and she fell backwards into nothingness.


	9. Chapter 9

Ida opened her eyes. Her head felt like the slightest movement would be fatal, but she forced herself to try and sit up. This endeavour proved more difficult than expected, and she noticed 3 things: the rope tying her hands behind her back; the foul tasting cloth stuffed into her mouth, and the metal chains around her ankles, fixed to a sturdy ring that was screwed into the floor…

….another thought fought its way to the front of her mind – the floor, a wooden, planked affair, was moving up and down.

'Mmmmf! Mmmmf!'

Groggily, Ida forced herself to turn her head, and she saw Mrs Hobbs leaning against the wall a few yards away, similarly gagged and restrained.

Ida sat back against the wall herself, and instantly regretted it as she brushed the back of her head, setting off nauseating shockwaves of pain. In some sort of reflex reaction she braced the muscles of her wrists against the ropes. Against all possible odds, there seemed to be some sort of give there…

Ten minutes of desperately writhing her hands later, one hand emerged – rope burned, sweat drenched but free. It was the work of seconds to pull the cloth from her mouth, then drag herself across the floor to Mrs Hobbs to do the same.

Mrs Hobbs spat out the last of the gag

'Thanks,' she gasped,

For a moment they both rested in silence, trying to come to terms with where they found themselves. Then Mrs Hobbs spoke again –

'…I don't even know your name…'

'…Ida,'

'Thanks, Ida. I'm Vera.'

'Vera?' repeated Ida, in some surprise, her mind still operating on autopilot

'Yes?'

'It's just I didn't imagine you as a Vera…'

'Why?' Vera sounded somewhat put out,

'_Veras_ tend to clean floors for a living. Or bring up huge families of squawking children. Or stitch shirts til their eyesight goes for a pittance. They don't, on the whole, impersonate men and attend medical school. Or any school, for that matter…'

For a heartbeat, Vera's face was a study in white hot anger…and then she burst into hysterical laughter,

'Shut up!' hissed Ida, 'do you want someone to hear us?'

'Sorry…sorry… So… _Ida_ … I take it you don't believe that it's possible to venture too far from one's place in society…'

'…That's not what I meant, but…'

'…You don't think it's possible for some uneducated working class girl to rub shoulders with London's intellectual elite?'

'…I just thought it was unlikely…'

'…You thought you were one of the few girls with the guts to try and do something that _you_ wanted to do with your life?'

'…Hey! You don't even know me!'

'…but you know the funniest thing?' Vera paused for breath, 'hah…the funniest thing, Ida, is that you seem to know _me_ extraordinarily well…'

'…How do you mean?'

'…Veronica.'

'…pardon?'

'…My name…the name on my birth certificate…is Veronica. Does that fit me better?'

Ida couldn't help but grin,

'Somewhat.'

'Veronica Spence. Only daughter of Lord and Lady Spence of lower Norbury.'

'Oh really?'

'For my sins. And I might not have been to school, but I had heaps of tutors when I was growing up. Latin, Greek, French, Music, Drawing, Poetry and so on. So. Does that make you feel happier?'

'Excuse me?'

'Well, with my obvious advantages in life, it's the simplest thing in the world for me to dress in men's clothes, walk like a man, talk like a man, enact the mannerisms of a man, not to mention study medicine every hour of the day whilst maintaining the aforementioned illusion of masculinity…'

'…I didn't mean…'

'…in fact it's just a little rich girl's game you've found yourself in, Ida, I wouldn't bother yourself too much about it…'

'Seeing as it's landed me locked up in some godforsaken boat,' Ida whispered, furiously, 'I think that I have every right to bother myself about it…'

They stared at each other in a rage filled impasse. Were it not for the iron shackles on their ankles, no doubt they would both have stormed off…

…All of a sudden Ida realised the sheer absurdity of their argument given their current situation. And it seemed as though Vera had spotted it at the same time, for she suddenly smiled,

'Shall we start again?'

Ida smiled too.

'Ida Greene,' she said, extending her free hand, 'pleased to meet you,'

'Vera Hobbs,' replied her companion, 'I'd shake your hand were it not for the dashed inconvenient way that mine's tied behind my back.'


	10. Chapter 10

A/N : Sorry that it took me an age to post this latest chapter ---

* * *

'So,' said Ida, struggling with the knots in the rope that still bound Vera's hands, 'what we need is a plan…'

'A plan,' Vera replied, 'that somehow enables us to free ourselves from these chains, get off this boat and…Ida! We might not even be in London any more…'

Ida just gulped. That thought had occurred to her, also. She looked around their prison once more. The ceiling was low, and the wall curved inwards at the base, suggesting they were somewhere in the bowels of the vessel. The room was dimly illuminated by light that filtered in through a narrow slit like window just beneath the ceiling.

'It's daytime,' she said, 'and I'm hungry and thirsty but not desperately so, so we can't have been here that long… How far could we have travelled in a night?'

'Not that far, surely…'

'Alright,' said Ida suddenly, pulling one of the knots apart, 'how about this… We lie down as though we're still unconscious. This worries them when they come to check on us. Then when they come close, we grab them round the throats and…'

'You say 'them', but we could only manage two at best….And I don't know about you, but I've never actually grabbed a man by the throat and I'm not entirely sure that…'

'OK, OK, I take your point. Right. What about if one of us pretended to be desperately ill? So that they might unchain one of us at least?'

'That is assuming that they care whether we live or die…'

'Cheerful, aren't you?'

'Do you blame me?'

'Actually…' Ida bit her tongue again.

'Maybe,' she said slowly, 'you should tell me a bit more about what's actually going on. Do you know who they are? The people who've kidnapped us?'

'Don't you?'

Ida sighed exasperatedly.

'The Annie Sue gang, I suppose. But did you know they were after you? Why did you run away from the vicarage last night?!'

Vera shut her eyes momentarily as though to steady herself, then replied

'No, I didn't know they were after me. Not until I saw that carriage on the road last night.'

'You recognised it?'

'Yes, and I knew that nothing…nothing involving _them_ is ever a coincidence…'

'So…why…?'

'Why did I leave? Didn't you hear what Dr Watson said?'

Ida thought for a second, then

'That a surgeon had attacked your husband!'

'Exactly. And in that moment I knew who, and I knew that I couldn't let him get away with it…'

'…but why not just tell us? We would have helped you…'

'…and explain that I've been masquerading as a medical student? I don't think so. Besides, I… Well, I'm not really interested in having MacKenzie _arrested_…'

'Mr MacKenzie! That's who you think attacked Ernest?'

'Well…yes…'

'Why?'

'Nothing…concrete… But he's been very suspicious of me recently, following me around…'

'…that's hardly enough to accuse him of attempted murder!' exclaimed Ida, 'besides, forgive me, but you have been acting suspiciously…'

'He was furious when the body went missing. That organ-reversal thing, that's a career making discovery…'

Above the general creaking of the boat and the lapping of water against the side, Ida suddenly became aware of footsteps approaching. She grabbed the rag and stuffed it back in Vera's mouth, then sprang back and sat against the wall, putting in her own gag with a grimace…

A key rattled in the door, accompanied by copious swearing at the stiffness of the lock. Eventually it swung open, revealing three men. The central figure, still holding the key, Ida recognised as her quarry of the previous afternoon – Treese.

'Good day, Mrs Hobbs,' said the man on the left, the tallest of the trio, whose face was elongated by his longish hair being scraped back into some sort of ponytail, 'such a shame that you missed your husband's wake…'

'…we're gonna miss Ernie,' cut in Joe Treese, 'aren't we, Micky?'

'That's right,' agreed the third man, a stocky fellow wearing a beret, 'nothing as to your grief, of course, madam,'

Vera stared at the three of them with undisguised hatred

'Oh, where are our manners lads?' exclaimed Treese, 'she can't answer us like this…'

The one whom Treese had addressed as Micky stepped forward and yanked the rag out of Vera's mouth

'Why?' she hissed, furiously, 'have you kidnapped us?'

'Oh yes,' grinned the tall man, ' 'us' – well, Vera… do you mind if I call you Vera? Your little friend is just along for the ride. Wrong place, wrong time and all that…'

'To be honest,' said Micky, leaning forward to speak in an exaggerated whisper, 'Joe whacked her on the head thinking she was you! Well…it was dark…'

'Oi, Micky, I heard that,'

'Would you mind not leaning so close,' said Vera in acid tones, 'the smell is beginning to make me feel nauseous…'

Micky hit her, hard, across the face. Unable to move her hands, Vera fell heavily to lie sprawled on the planked floor. Ida spat out her gag in fury,

'Do that again and I'll…'

'…yes?'

'You won't get away with this…' she continued, lamely,

'Really?'

'_Treese_!' came a shout from somewhere above them, '_Joe_?, where are you?'

An uneasy look flashed across Treese's face,

'Here, sir,' he called, without taking his eyes off Ida

Heavy footsteps thumped outside, as though someone were laboriously descending a ladder. A few seconds later, a heavily overweight man appeared behind the three thugs, his face red with fury,

'_What_,' he hissed, breathlessly, 'is _this_?'

'Er…' began Micky, 'it's Mrs Hobbs…'

'…Joe thought…' interjected the tall man,

'…I can speak for myself,' interrupted Treese, hotly, 'There's something fishy going on, sir, and she's in it up to her neck. We opened Ernie's coffin, and…'

'You _opened Ernie's coffin_?'

'After you left the funeral, sir...We thought we'd get his medallion back, you know? It's gold after all, and it's no use to him now… But his body! His stomach had been cut open, and…'

'Enough!' The fat man held up a hand to silence Treese, 'We don't have time to hear your idiot ramblings. I recognise Mrs Hobbs, who's the other one?'

'Dunno, sir,'

The newcomer raised his eyes to heaven briefly, then took a deep breath as though to calm himself.

'Are you aware,' he continued, in icy tones, 'that Scotland Yard raided three of our boats this morning?'

'What?!'

'They were looking for two young women.'

'Sir, no one saw us, we checked!'

'Save your explanations for later, Micky. It's only thanks to their general incompetence that they didn't find any of our latest shipment. But _this_ cargo will be obvious even to them…'

'We'll hide them…'

'…No. You'll get rid of them…'

'But sir, Ernie! We've got to get her to explain, we need to know what…'

'Ernie,' spat their leader, 'is an irrelevance. Your little performance has drawn the police force to us and I swear, Treese, you are going to pay…'

'…We'll get rid of them, sir, right away…'

'…How?'

'…over the side?'

'…in broad daylight? In the _dockyard?_'

'….er…. Kill them here…?'

'…Leaving a nice fresh bloodstain for the constables?'

'…You do realise,' interjected Ida, with the reckless abandon of one in a truly desperate situation, 'that we can hear you?'

With a speed incongruous with his bulk, the newcomer traversed the room and crouched down in front of her, fixing his beady eyes on hers,

'Listen all you want, girl, if you think it will do you any good.'

Ida forced herself to try and stay calm. If she could perhaps delay them for a while, then maybe, just maybe, the police would arrive…

'You could let me go at least,' she said, 'I shouldn't be here at all…'

The fat man grinned, then spoke softly -

'You'll never make an actress, Miss, I can see through you like a plate glass window.'

Suddenly raised voices became audible from outside,

'No! Sir, you can't come aboard this ship…'

The beady eyes widened for a split second, then the man stood and barked instructions to the cowering trio

'What do we have in the hold?'

'er….do you mean the real hold or…'

'imbecile! Do we have any crates?'

'Yeah…er…some linen, and…'

'That'll do. Knock them out.'

'Sir?'

'Knock. Them. Out.'

'Help!' Ida started to shout, 'help! Down here!'

'Honestly,' he muttered, drawing a cosh from somewhere deep within his coat, 'do I have to do everything round here…?'


End file.
